"Conn, sonar"
        Captain William Morton raised his eyes from the chart table, and reached for the phone.
        "Conn, aye."
        "Sir, we have a contact - bearing one-eight-zero." The sonarman´s voice hesitated, "Contact is too far to determine range or blade count. We're designating contact as Yankee Eight."
        William Morton was the Captain of the USS Dakota, the newest and most valuable of the United States Navy's nuclear attack submarines. For the past week they had been patrolling an area 100 miles off the California coast, involved in oceanographic research for the National Oceanographic Institute. Peace time missions did not normally justify, in this day and age, the cost of keeping a submarine out for months and the Navy had therefore negotiated with other government agencies the hiring of their boats for marine uses. It didn't please Captain Morton but at least they were out at sea, the only real place for a submariner and the close to 7,000 tons of silent weapon they lived in.
        "XO, let's run an exercise," he said. The Executive Officer, Commander John Defario assented - the crew had only been involved in one exercise since they had left port. In any case, the underwater terrain mapping they had been carrying out was complete in this sector and they were supposed to move south anyway. The crew needed the training.
        "Aye, skipper. Navigator, bring us left to one-eight-zero and make our depth four hundred feet. All ahead two thirds." There was a low rumble as the Dakota came to life and accelerated to 15 knots.
        Captain Morton walked over to the sonar room and peered in. The eyes and ears of the Dakota was a small elongated room no more than 15 feet long. One of the walls was occupied by a bank of instruments - computers, sonars, displays and the necessary equipment to keep a submarine alive in modern times. Inside sat two technicians, one of which was Chief Steven Perry.
        "What have we got, chief ?" asked Captain Morton.
        "Well, sir, it´s kind of strange." Chief Perry pivoted in his seat and faced the Captain. "We have a definite contact here but we're not picking up any power plant or propeller noises. It seems like something is moving through the water, but with no mechanical activity."
        "Whale," suggested the Captain. After all, they were in California and whales frequently passed through these waters on their journey south.
        "No sir, contact is steady on course." A whale would move through the water erratically, feeding off krill and shrimp wherever it would find it.
        "What does the computer say." Captain Morton knew that no computer could outsmart Chief Perry, but his chief sonarman seemed baffled.
        "Nothing. It's like the contact isn't there. I guess that since we're not getting any mechanical noises, it's just not fitting into the proper parameters." Chief Perry turned towards the instrument bank and pointed at the waterfall display. "But the contact is there." The water display is basically an oscilloscope that picks up water vibrations - noise - and paints it on a display, indicating range and bearing to targets. A clear green line was drawn vertically on the display. "I'm going to run a few tests to see if anything is malfunctioning."
        Captain Morton thought for a second. "All right, but let's take a closer look at the contact. As soon as you have any new information I want to know." He wheeled around and walked back into the Dakota's bridge. "Okay, listen up every one. We're tracking a contact but sonar isn't registering any sounds from it - all we know is that there is something in the water ahead of us and it is very quiet. We're going to take a closer look and I want it treated as an exercise."
        The XO smiled. "Okay people, let's nail this guy. Combat try to set up a solution." Defario usually irradiated enthusiasm in everything he did. After a week of relative boredom, it was now double. The XO turned to the weapons officer. "What's the status?" He already knew, but procedures were usually carried out by the book.
        "Tubes one and four loaded with Mk-48s, tubes two and three with Harpoons." The Mk-48 was the Navy's standard torpedo and the Harpoon was one of the most advance anti-ship missiles in existence. The Dakota was armed and ready for action. "We were running a few tests on one of the torps that was acting up, but they should be about done. I'll check," he said and reached for a phone above the main weapons console.
        The Captain raised the telephone again. "Sonar, do we have anything on range yet ?"
        "Negative, sir. I've just run a test on the computer and everything is working fine. Skipper, if this were a normal contact I'd estimate about eighty miles. But it could be a lot closer."
        The crew looked around with questioning glances. Normally, the million dollar sonar equipment they carried did not hesitate like this.
        "Okay, Sonar, let's triangulate," said the captain. Triangulation was a method sometimes used when the contact was far away and faint. It consisted of taking a bearing to the target, changing position and drawing a new line, thus setting up two sides of a triangle, effectively pinpointing the target. "All ahead. Right ten degrees. Come right to new course one-nine-zero." The Dakota kicked it's speed up to thirty knots and changed course quickly. The submarine was making a lot of noise know, but it would only be for a short amount of time.

        Ten minutes later the Dakota had moved about six miles on a course somewhat to the right of Yankee Eight, their target. Captain Morton checked his watch and ordered engines cut back to one-third. The Navigator complied and the large submarine started to slow quickly. At thirty knots a submarine has two problems: one, is that it can be heard all over the place. But second, and more important, is that the rush of the water around the hull renders the sonar nearly useless. In essence, deaf and blind. Not a good situation for an attack submarine.
        "Conn, sonar. We have the target. Bearing one-one-zero. Heading is still one-eight-zero. That gives a range of, " the sonarman's voice rose, "eight thousand yards! Sir, whatever's out there, they know we are here." They were much closer than expected. If this had been a war contact or an enemy submarine they would be in deep trouble.
        Captain Morton kicked himself mentally for such a stupid error. Running around at full speed at such a short distance from the target. But, how could a target be so close and emanate so little noise? Had someone found a new type of propulsion system that drastically reduced niose levels to a minimum? It seemed like a good time to take things much more seriously.
        "Weapons - update the firing solution," he said. "XO, any ideas?"
        Defario shook his head gravely. "No, sir. This guy is not normal."
        The overhead speaker came to life. "Conn, sonar. We still can't get a blade count but we're picking up some kind of water hiss. Target doesn't seem to be moving on standard propulsion." The atmosphere had become suddenly much more tense, official.
        Behind the captain, the weapons officer, raised his head from the computer and said : "Skipper, we have a solution for tubes one and four. Ready and set, sir." In a normal situation, the setting of a firing solution in a favourable position would conclude the exercise but it seemed that things were far from over. A ghostly quiet contact right on the California doorstep was reason to worry.
        "Okay. Sonar, what's that on the hiss ?"
        "Sir, seems like the sonar is picking up water turbulence - faint, but it's there. Also, some background noise - very faint, could be sea currents, but it wasn't there when we started the run. Also, target is on a direct intercept course for Yankee Four."
        Yankee Four was the SS Caribbean, a pleasure ship off Bristol that was sailing around the world and was now jumping to Asia. They had located the Caribbean some time ago, and had identified it through the Dakota's constantly updated computer system. They had taken note and then forgotten about the cruise ship - now it seemed to be playing an important role in the mystery.
        Chief Perry continued from the sonar room. "Target is moving at 12 knots, bearing unchanged."
        The captain considered this for a moment. "Okay, let's change course towards our friend. Come left to one-two-zero. Bring us down to ten knots. Sonar, what's the range to Yankee Four ?"
        "Yankee Four is at twelve thousand yards."
        Captain Morton sat back in his chair and pinched his chin with his thumb and index finger. He couldn't do a damn thing right now, except for watch and wait. All kinds of possibilities shot through his mind : a new kind of Navy submersible - no, in his waters he would have been informed. An advanced research project by some university or private institution (that would not require him being told) - not this far from the coast, and without any kind of support platform (Yankee Four was the only other contact close by). Finally, somebody else's Navy boat, in which case being so close to the US was a definite danger. The captain had little time to gather his thoughts as the phone buzzed again.
        "Conn, sonar. Picking up transients from the target. Something is detaching itself - sounds like an RV." Remote vehicles were used mainly for rescue or salvage operations. All right, thought the captain, maybe I'm being paranoid. Then again, nuclear attack submarine captains weren't paid to be laid back. "We're now picking up two distinct targets. Designating new target as Yankee Nine. New target is accelerating on direct course to Yankee Four. Speed now 30 knots."
        Captain Morton reconsidered the situation and inmediately fell back on his training : as per Navy regulations, if a submersible without permission was located this close to the coast, the action was to identify, contact and escort them past the 200 mile international sea limit. Damn, what had started out as an excersise was turning up to be a major headache. "OK, communications, let's try to raise them on the Gertrude," he said. The Gertrude was the submarine's underwater, short-range phone. Unsophisticated, but effective. The communications officer lifted the phone and tried to raise the contact. No reply came. He tried again with equal results. Captain Morton nodded for him to try yet a third time, but was interrupted by the overhead phone. "Conn, sonar. Captain, the RV is accelerating past 50 knots! It's still on direct course to Yankee Four - wait, picking up transients from the larger contact. Sounds like something opening and - shit, sounds of flooding! Torpedo in the water! Coming straight towards us, sir !
        Captain Morton's blood turned to ice. Somehow their target had gone from hunted to hunter. Thoughts raced through his mind : an ultra-silent submarine that had rear-firing capabilities (or that could pivot without lateral movement) was very bad news. However, he reacted immediately. "All ahead flank," he bellowed, "rudder, full left to zero-zero-zero. Emergency descent to eight hundred feet. Fire off a noise maker." The Dakota burst into life and raced towards the thirty plus knots that it was capable. "Sonar, "he continued, his voice still loud, "information, NOW !"
        "Captain, torpedo seven thousand five hundred yards, bearing changing as we turn. Passing to starboard. Speed is, " he hesitated through the calculation, "over 55 knots now. Still accelerating."
        Captain Morton hit the transmit switch. "All right, sonar. Wait. Weapons, flood tubes one and four. Make them ready to fire. Fire off another noise maker once we pass 600 feet." The Dakota was a frenzy of activity as orders were relayed from the officers to the seamen that carried them out. Hearts started to race and sweat could be seen breaking out on foreheads. "Weapons, firing solution ?" he asked.
        "Ready and confirmed, Captain," said the Weapons officer. "Tubes are now flooded, sir. Opening outer doors."
        "OK, fire as soon as ready. Get the torps on target and then cut the wires." The intention was simple. Send the enemy something to worry about their way. However, the fact that they were running away meant that precision targeting was out of the question and thus the torpedoes guidance wires would be cut almost instantly. "Sonar, information."
        "OK, torpedoes aren't pinging but they're definitely homing in on us. Speed is now 61 knots. Distance is four thousand yards. They seem to have us sir. They'll be reaching the first noise maker in seconds, sir. Can't get a blade count, and the computer doesn't know what they are, and..." The weapons officer interrupted loudly :"Firing tubes one and four, sir !" A loud double whoosh echoed through the hull of the submarine as the two Mark 48's were expelled from their tubes. "Tubes one and four out sir. Reloading !". Another voice cut in. "Sir, passing 600 feet. Course is now zero-zero-zero. Speed now twenty six knots," said the XO. Morton assented and turned back to the overhead phone. "OK, sonar. Update."
        "Torpedoes have reached the noise makers and are still on target. Their speed is steady on 65 knots. Range now two thousand-six hundred feet."
        Captain Morton turned to his second in command. After a few years together, certain situations and feelings were transmitted without words. Commander Defario was pale. "XO, fire off another noise maker and change course to two-eight-zero." He then continued softly. "Let's get a flash priority message out." If they were hit, the Navy needed to know. A sudden high pitched whine, different to everything they had heard inundated the boat.
        "Conn, sonar. Torps are accelerating past 70 knots, sir ! I guess the noise is their equivalent to sonar pinging."
        Captain Morton made a quick decision. At that speed the torps would not be able to maneuver very well. "OK, sonar, when the torps are at one thousand I want to know." He then turned to the navigator. "Son, when you here sonar's warning, start an emergency ascent. And I mean, lean back on the yoke as far as it will go. Also, countermeasures, fire off another noisemaker." The XO caught his gaze again ; they both knew it was a last ditch effort. He said quietly :"Captain, flash message is out." Captain Morton nodded. One of the worst aspects of submarine warfare was time ; it dragged. When you're running and fighting under water at speeds of a few dozen knots, things don't happen quickly. Nervous glances were passed around as officers and crew adjusted their seatbelts and mopped sweat from their brows.
        "Conn, sonar. Torps are now at one thousand one hundred yards. Our torpedoes did not acquire the target. They're heading for the bottom." So much for that idea. And then, after what seemed like an age : "Conn, sonar. Torps are at one thousand !"
        "OK," said Captain Morton, "emergency ascent. Noisemaker." The Dakota lurched backwards as the stabilizing planes rotated to their maximum upwards deflection. "Sonar, keep us informed."
        "Torps are steady on course. Bearing unchanged, descent rate unchanged - wait, torps are now climbing. We're not shaking them, Captain. They've passed the noisemaker."
        Captain Morton looked at his second in command and watched his shoulders sag.

The next chapters is:

• A Force is Born:. It narrates the storming of SS Caribbean by a team of elite Navy Seals.